


an apple a day (won't keep this doctor away)

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Degüello, Endeavour Morse Whump, Gen, Max DeBryn Whump, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18423600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: Degüello, but different... Degüello, but the boys aren't quite as quick. Max and Morse take a bit more of a beating, and then Max has gotta save the day, all without his glasses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so!! i wanted to write this for ages, but i thank imaginationtherapy for helping me actually do it!! thank u for supporting my screams and for sending encouragement! (go check out their fics, they got me though this lol) 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy i love max,,, i hope i did him good?

Max DeBryn woke up, and he was, to put it simply, livid. Not only had some roughanded giant clubbed him over the head in his own lab, not only had they dumped him in the back of a van, but they had cracked his  _ fucking _ glasses. The world, the little of it that he could see right now, was splintered. He was on the back of an open top, thrown on his back with his arms bound behind him. It left him quite firmly stuck, looking up at the sky as it passed by overhead. He tried to ignore the way it all looked not quite right, but the fractured lens and the apparent concussion did not help the rolling sensation in his stomach.  _ Pull yourself together Max,  _ he told himself. So he did. He took in a deep breath, and tried to organise his thoughts. 

He had been on the phone to Morse, trying to tell him… something important. Something he could not, for the life of him remember. Well, that was something to come back to. At least he could safely assume Morse had heard what happened. What else did he know? He was on the back of a van, headed who knows where. He had watched the trees change, seen them thicken and then thin out. The air was quieter here, fewer cars passed them, but aside from that there was very little to go on. If he knew Morse, which he like to think he did - quite well - he could be fairly certain that he’d work out where Max was headed.

Wherever it was, it seemed as though they had arrived, as without warning the van took a hard left. It sent Max crashing into the side of the van, and with no hands to protect himself, his face met the side with an almighty bang. His glasses, what remained of them, went skidding across the floor. He cursed aloud before the speeding vehicle came to a stop, snapping his head against the other side of the car again.

He groaned, distracted by the throbbing pain in his temple, as whoever was driving kicked open the doors. There were voices, talking too far away for him to understand, or perhaps that was just the concussion. Then one of the voices was suddenly a lot closer and the back of the van was pulled open.

Being so incredibly short sighted, Max had no chance at identifying the blur of a man standing in front of him, until he crouched, his face mere inches from his own and smiled at him. 

“Ah doctor, looks like you’re awake.” He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Jago, the bastard, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward till his head hung over the side of the van. He tried not to think about the damage falling from the back of the vehicle might do him, and instead glared at Jago.

“Yes well with driving like that, one would be hard pressed to take a nap.” That earned him a sharp slap across the face.

“No talkin’ back doc, you’re not here for a chit-chat.” Max hummed.

“Oh really, I thought we were going for tea.”

Suddenly there was a hand at his throat and stubby fingers digging into his esophagus.  

“What did he just say?” another voice said, closer, breath hot on the back of his neck. Max nodded, as the fingers dug deeper for a moment. For one terrifying moment he struggled for air, could distantly hear his captor laugh as he struggled under his grip. He felt himself being pulled from the back of the van and only caught a breath when he landed with a thud onto the floor. His knees took most of the fall, sending shockwaves of pain up his back.

Someone grabbed the back of his head, fingers tight in his hair. Another figure, Jago he assumed, stepped into his line of sight, followed by yet another person Max couldn’t make heads nor tails of. He hated not having his glasses.

Jago shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered closer.

“Look, this isn’t about you doc. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, and Max had to stop himself from replying with ‘ _ that’s rich what do you call blunt force trauma’-  _ when Jago’s fist collided with his jaw.

“But looks like we might have to teach you some manners.”

By the time the thugs had bundled Max back into the back of the van, there was blood oozing from his head, from his nose and his split lip. They’d shoved a rag in his mouth at some point, to stop him crying out he supposed, and it tasted like dirt and blood. His head was throbbing. He was tired. So tired.  _ No falling asleep just yet  _ he heard himself mumble through his gag. Or maybe he’d thought that, he couldn’t quiet be sure, everything was rather muddled. Either way, it was advice he tried to follow, but the pain behind his eyes only grew until he couldn’t hold on any longer. He didn’t even feel his head hit the floor.

* * *

When he came to, there was no telling how long he’d been out for. He was still stuck on his side, hands bound and aching, though the blood had stopped dripping into his eyes. There were voices now though, more of them. One in particular rang out above the rest, clear and strong and familiar.

Morse, that was Morse. He could hear him, couldn’t see him, but he would know that voice anywhere.

“Where’s DeBryn?” The sound of footsteps getting closer, their quick pace matching Max’s heart as it thudded in his chest.

“Alive?” Morse asked. Max winced. He had feared the worst, but hearing the dangerous tone of Morse’s voice only confirmed that they were, indeed, in the shit.

“Last I looked,” one of them said back. With a clang the back of the van fell open. Max strained forward, needing to see Morse, convince himself it wasn’t his brain playing tricks on him. 

A solitary figure, dark coat and auburn hair, one hand outstretched. Max let himself feel some small amount of relief.

“It’s alright doctor,” Morse called out. “I’m getting you out of here.” Morse stepped forward at the same time Jago waved something- a gun?

“Not so fast, Morse. You know that’s not how this goes.” With a casual wave, Jago fired a shot, and Max watched in horror as Morse fell to his knees. He yelled, tried to call for Morse, but the gag muffled his words. He tried to reach out, forgetting for a moment his hands were useless. Fury at his own uselessness flooded him. A kick to the side of the side van only succeeded in catching one of the henchmen’s attention.

“Don’t worry doc,” he said with a laugh. “Once we’re finished him, we’ll let you go.” He strode away from the van, leaving Max stranded and helpless. He lay there, useless as the men took turns slugging Morse, landing blows over every inch of him. It felt as though the torture would never end. Jago would alternate between landing punches across Morse’s face and his stomach, where the bullet had struck. Every time Morse’s fingers scratched at his torturers, one of them would grab a fistfull of his hair and yank. His cries echoed across the building lot.

Max did not consider himself an aggressive man, but as he lay there, forced to watch hazily as Morse took hit after hit, he found he had a deep desire to smash Jago’s head against the floor. It set a fire blazing within him, being helpless to stop the brutes. His finger ached to tip the men off him, they itched to reach for Morse, to help him. He struggled against his binding, but the rope was thick and wound tight. After less than five minutes of tugging, his hands were slippery with blood. The sound of Morse suddenly crying out as someone kicked at his open wound sent a fresh wave of adrenaline through him, and it prompted him to consider how much force it would take to break his own thumb.

Before he could do the maths, he heard it. They all did. A car, getting closer and closer, too loud to be headed anywhere else but towards them. 

Jago brought the gun back from wherever he’d stashed it, and stood over Morse who lay wheezing on the ground. 

“Looks like the cavalry  _ has  _ arrived, how sweet.” He said as the car pulled up. Max shifted himself closer to the open end of the van in time to see the three people emerge from the car. He could make out the blurred shapes, just about. One tall and broad, the other in a long coat and hat, another in uniform.

Strange, Thursday, Bright. They had arrived, Max could only hope, just in time. Jago waved his gun to them in greeting.

“Welcome to the party gentlemen,” he shot out a foot, kicking Morse in the head.

“We’re glad to see you aren’t we Morse?” The detective groaned.

One of the other men, whose name Max still didn’t know, made some quip at Strange, while Bright blasted Jago with some nice put downs, but it was Thursday Max had his eye on. He seemed to be inching forward whilst Strange and Bright kept Jago and company distracted, towards Morse. If Max could see anything from his hidden spot in the back of the van, he would have seen Thursday’s face paling, the look of horror that passed over him. Max’s blood boiled as he heard Morse cry out in pain. Oh, what he would give to have his hands free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the lil POV switch here, it just... yh it worked better than how i originally had this bit planned so bear w it pls

Thursday dropped to his knees beside Morse, hands reaching for his stomach. Blood was slowly seeping through his shirt. Jago’s eyes fell on the pair, so he dropped into a squat beside them, smirking.

“A shame, really. It didn’t have to go like this Fred.” Jago said with a shake of his head.

“We were only here to get rid of the scrawny bastard.” He pressed the muzzle of the gun against Morse’s temple, and Thursday stiffened. Beneath them, Morse groaned, a wet gurgling sound. A trickle of blood found it’s way from the corner of his lips to his chin.

“Stand up Fred. Move aside, and we’ll make it quick.”

Thursday made no attempt to move. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said, hand already in his coat to find his own firearm.

“Suit yourself,” Jago said, and in one lightning fast movement buried the gun in Morse’s gut. Thursday’s hand stilled. The world it seemed, was suddenly silent.

Then once again the sound of an engine filled the air, and everyone glanced towards the horizon. As Jago’s eyes flicked up from Morse, to his accomplices and and scowled. More than one car, it sounded like an entire team. There wasn’t a moment spared. Jago was on his feet in an instant, heading towards the still unfinished parts of construction.

Strange and Bright were quick on their trail, but Thursday turned back towards Morse. His hands pressed against his stomach, his face close to Morse’s.

“I’ve got you son.” Blearily, Morse peered up at him.

“Go sir,” Morse groaned. “Get the bastard.”

“Strange and Bright’ll sort him out-” The cars came thundering around the corner. The first to stop had it’s doors thrown open, and from it ran Box, ahead of the patrol cars. He all but leapt over Morse, sparing Thursday a glance. “Is he…”

“I’m alright,” Morse said again, voice a little stronger this time. Thursday glanced down at him, then back up. Box gave him a tight smile.

“I couldn’t let him win, not anymore.”

Thursday nodded.

“Then let’s go stop him.”

* * *

From his spot in the van, Max watched as Thursday pulled off his tie, quickly wrapping it around Morse’s torso to hold his hastily crumpled jacket in place. It wasn’t the most practical of bandages but Morse didn’t seem to care. He waved Thursday off, and as much as it horrified Max to see Morse left alone, he understood the need to stop Jago. If anyone was going to get him, he had faith it would be Thursday. With one last glance back at Morse, Thursday and Box took off, quick on the heels of Bright and Strange.

Max watched as Morse struggled onto his side as patrol cars came to a stop around them. Somehow, the man managed to pull himself upright, standing on up on two unsteady feet. Max’s heart leapt to his mouth. That idiot was about to follow them, wasn’t he? He tried to shout out, tried to catch Morse’s attention, he should just wait for one of the officers to get to him - but they were both stopped short by the sound of gunshots. Two, so close it was almost impossible to tell them apart. Then silence fell, and there was nothing, until Thursday’s voice rang out.

“Get an ambulance!”

Strange appeared first, thundering past Morse for the car. Then Bright and Thursday, both with their arms around Box, lying him down on the flat of concrete Morse stood on. Max watched in confusion as the men hurried about, Strange reappearing from the car with a scowl.

“Ambulance is on it’s way but there’s been an accident a few miles back, why patrol took so long. No idea how long it’s gonna take them. Morse, you okay matey?” he said. Morse was swaying on the spot, looking rather like he was about to- “Morse!” - collapse.

Strange caught him before he hit the ground, easing him down beside Box. He swore.

“Shit, Morse, stay with me.” Max watched in frustration as Strange’s hands hovered uselessly over Morse, panic clear with every jerky move. He cared a great deal for, and respected, all of these brilliant men, but he was also astounded by their stupidity sometimes. Desperate, he kicked against the side of the van. Three heads suddenly snapped towards him. Finally, someone remembered the doctor. Strange was quickest, at his side in an instant, getting him to his feet and pulling the gag from his mouth.

“Doc, God sorry, are you alright?” Max, who would take time  _ later _ to be offended they had forgotten him, turned his head and rather ungracefully spat a mouthful of blood and grime onto the floor before nodding.

“Quite well thank you, better if you would untie me though.”

Strange, eyes wide, obliged of course and before he knew it Max had full use of hands. He ran a hand across his wrists, wincing at the welts that had formed, as he strode across the building site. With no question he dropped beside Morse, ordering Thursday to keep his hands on the bulletwound.

He began cataloging injuries, silently horrified as he ran careful hands the length of Morse’s body. No doubt the detective had a similar concussion to his own, a smattering of bruises across his face, a gash across his forehead slowly oozing blood. His skin was unnaturally white, even for Morse, and as Max’s hands brushed along his face, incredibly cold.

Most of the blood on his chin Max feared came from the bullet lodged in his gut. His chest trembled beneath Max’s hands. As Max’s hands came to meet Thursday’s which were already stained with blood, his stomach churned. There was every chance the bullet had hit something vital, but there was no way of knowing out here in conditions like this. That and the fact Morse had most definitely slipped into shock had his heart pounding.

“Morse, can you hear me?” Morse mumbled something, and then went limp. Luckily Max was used to his patients being unresponsive.

“Strange,” Max snapped without looking up. “Your jacket, if you’re not too partial to it?” He held out a hand into which the sergeant hastily shoved his coat. With a few precise folds, the jacket became a small gauze, which he switched out for Thursday’s bloody coat and tie. The neat, organised look of it calmed him a little. One problem solved, if only for a moment, he glanced over at Box.

“Do the same for him, and if the bullet has passed through, one on his back too.”

There was frustratingly little Max could do for either man without medical equipment. He tilted Morse’s head, instructing Bright to do the same. He had Strange prop Box’s feet up in the hopes it would keep his blood pressure steady, and from his position crouched beside Morse, talked them through CPR. It was alright, it was all going to be alright, they just had to wait for the ambulance to get here. It was alright, and then Morse’s breathing hitched, and he went still.

“Doctor, is he-” Thursday said, a tremor Max had never heard in his voice.

“Not on my watch,” he shot back, hands already at Morse’s chest. As knotted his fingers together over the man’s heart, Max prayed for what had to be the first time in a very, very long time.

* * *

Max couldn’t say how long he knelt beside Morse, but at some point, the ambulances arrived. The paramedics with their oxygen and IV’s and everything Max trusted, it swarmed Morse. He stepped back, let them do what he knew they would do best. He glanced at Thursday, who was covered in blood and then down at himself. He could barely tell what was his and which was Morse’s. He held up his hands, stained red and covered in mud, and realised he was shaking. 

Thursday clapped a hand on his shoulder, and pushed him towards the ambulance Morse was being loaded into. They both climbed in, sat on the bench beside Morse as the paramedics did their job.

It was only then, in the back of the ambulance, as Thursday pressed a battered pair of glasses into his hand that Max thought to ask.

“Jago?” Thursday gave him a short jerk of the head.

“Dead.” Max glanced down at Morse, slowly bleeding out between them.

“Good.”

* * *

The three of them look a sight in the hospital waiting room, Max thinks as he walks in some hours later. Strange is sat in his shirtsleeves, jacket long gone, Thursday soaked in blood. Bright’s uniform is smeared with mud, dirt on his knees and cuffs. They all look over at him in unison, taking in his now clean face and stitched up wounds.

“How are you doing, doc?” Thursday asks, offering him a cup of lukewarm tea. Max smiles tightly and accepts.

“Not too bad, inspector, not too bad.” 

He takes a mouthful of tea, and a seat beside Strange. There’s a moment of silence, where nobody wants to ask what they’re all wondering. They all know Box has made it through surgery, though he’s in a medically induced coma. There’s been no word on Morse for nearly an hour now.

Just then the door creaks, and a nurse appears. Her face remains impassive as she enters, but then she smiles softly.

“Sergeant Morse is in recovery, he made it through surgery. It was a close call, but he’s going to be alright. You’ll be able to see him shortly.”

The tension in the room bleeds away as the doctor leaves. Strange relaxes into his chair, Bright’s shoulders drop, Thursday falls back against the wall. He’s going to be alright.

Max glances up from where he’s bending the broken arm of his glasses back into place, a small smile on his face.

“Next time, why not get the doctor out of the van first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like rip Box idk i had to use him but like,,, i wasn't sure how he fit in this version very well... he totally survives he's jsut busted up for a while longer or smth lol anyways im tired bc it's nearly 1am now but i hope y'all enjoyed pls lemme know what u did/didn't like and if there's any glaring errors i made bc i decided to write all of this over like 2 weeks between only the hours or 1-3am xx


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